Post-War Snapshots
by theweightofmywords
Summary: A collection of drabbles related to the characters' lives right after the Final Battle at Hogwarts. Rated M for language.
1. Ginny

Screams echoed in Ginny's mind, but the Burrow remained silent and still, as if the slightest noise would shatter the carefully constructed glass that held everything in place. During dinner, they sat at the table, hearing only the broken clock's erratic ticking and silverware scraping plates. Ginny missed the cacophony the dinners used to be. Compared to the polite silence, it sounded like a symphony.

She and Harry went out some days to fly. It had helped her some. He would hover a few feet away, his eyes staring off thousands of feet in the distance. Though they tried to reach each other, their words and lips, their hands, continued running up against walls. They took comfort from a distance, their shared pain serving as a glass barrier between them. Look, but do not touch.

Like the solitary sun, she also felt like she would burn from all she held in. She wanted to burst and destroy everything around her. One night, she decided to break out from the mausoleum her home had become. Her feet tiptoed to the kitchen, the silence threatening to betray her intentions to run. With trembling hands but a firm resolve, she emerged in a cloud of ash and fire from the Leaky Cauldron and walked aimlessly into muggle London.

The threat of tears burned behind her downcast eyes. Part of her felt selfish for not telling anyone she had gone out. Part of her felt free. She just wanted to get away. To feel nothing. To feel it all.

Ginny had stumbled upon the show by chance. A sign outside a pub read, "No cover! Show tonight!" The room itself was crowded, and in the corner, a band played. They looked about Ginny's age, maybe a bit older. The smoke from the bar, intermingled with the stench of beer and urine, burned her nostrils. She shouldered her way through the crowd until she was in the middle. She wanted to feel the people around her, wanted to smell them, hear them, until she couldn't feel herself anymore.

The guitars and drums roared so loudly she could feel it in her heart. The lead singer was a woman, and Ginny noticed that, in fact, the whole band and much of the crowd was female. She imagined that they were like her in some way– running from destruction only to want to destroy their worlds again.

Ginny's spine tingled with the echoes of the singer's wailing. She closed her eyes and pretended they were taking the place of her screams. She wanted to ignite and burn until she was ash. The noise drowned out the screams of the dying girl begging for her mother, of Dennis Creevey as he tripped over his brother's body, of her mother seeing Fred's body in the Great Hall. Shaking her head, Ginny choked back tears as she began to sway in the crowd.

She felt herself being pushed by the people around her, and she pushed back. She felt like she was in an ocean; they slammed into her, tossing her back and forth. She winced slightly at the pain the contact was inflicting, but more than anything, she reveled in the anger. She pushed harder and harder against the people around her as she began to scream. She was one of her brother's fireworks, as she spun in circles, her limbs flailing, and in that moment, she missed him more than she ever had before. Letting out a feral growl, she slammed into the person next to her, pretending it was him. She wanted to hurt him for dying, and she wanted to touch and see him again. Like a wave, she pushed and spun in the crowd, the music ever louder in her ears, washing away the sounds of the battle and the people it left behind. Beads of sweat flew off her body, as someone slammed into her, and she fell to the ground.

"Sorry 'bout that, Red," a woman with a shock of pink hair said. Ginny looked up, and through her tears, she looked like Tonks.

"Wanna go up?" the woman asked, offering her a hand. Ginny nodded.

Suddenly, the woman was lifting her body. She looked down to see the arms and hands of the people holding her as she floated across the crowd. This wasn't flying, but Ginny thought it was magic. She threw her head back and wept, her fire subsiding. Like a phoenix, she glided above the ocean, her tears tumbling down to join the waves below.


	2. Ron

"Why are you here?" George slurred, peeking up at Ron through squinting eyes. Ron had promised his mother to check on George.

"Just felt like stopping by," Ron lied.

"You're lying."

"You're drunk."

"You're a wanker."

"Fuck you."

George nodded and chuckled weakly as he stumbled to the bathroom. He pissed with the door open.

"You want dinner?" Ron inquired, praying silently that his brother would say yes.

"Yeah. To the pub," George said simply, walking past Ron as he grabbed a jumper.

To Ron's surprise, George ate some chips. Ron encouraged him to eat by commenting on how good the food was, but George preferred to consume his calories in liquid.

"C'mon, Ronnie, drink with me," George prodded, pushing a shot of firewhiskey towards him.

"I really shouldn't," Ron replied, shaking his head. "I got auror training tomorrow morning."

"Auror training in the morning, oh my!" he mimicked. Ron felt his face growing red with anger as he bit his tongue.

"Just one shot," George requested more seriously, his voice tinged with desperation. "Please."

"Oh, alright," Ron faltered. He felt like if George was going to get pissed, he should have company. George clapped him on the back and whooped. Ron picked up the shot glass as to offer a toast. He looked at George expectantly.

George's face became sullen. He shook his head."Don't toast. No one wants to think of…" his voice trailed before he gulped the liquor down.

Ron stayed and got drunk with him. A few hours later, he tried to bring George back to the flat above the shop, but George insisted on staying. The music in the pub seemed too loud, and he knew that the smile George was wearing for the group of witches around him was fake. Feeling dizzy, Ron had to get out.

When he arrived at Grimmauld Place, he ran up to his room. With the door closed, he began to notice his clenched jaw and the tight feeling in his chest. Breathing raggedly, he reached for his pack of cigarettes and began smoking. He held the cigarette with shaky fingers as he paced the room. Each time he closed his eyes, he saw George's smile: too wide, too much teeth.

George's fake smiles. His mother's pleading,_"Ronnie, check on him, please?"_ His father's constant changing of subjects. Percy's renewed presence, his careful words. Ginny's letters from Hogwarts, asking him, "How's George?" Hermione's screams as she tossed and turned in bed, echoing her torment from the war. Her voice, _"That's really kind of you to look after George, Ron."_

Ron slid to the floor in utter defeat. He began to cry.

He had changed in the war. Grown stronger, more responsible, more mature. He knew it. He felt it. They felt it too.

But he was tired. He missed Fred just as much as they did. They seemed to forget.

Ron tried to stop crying. Setting his jaw and rubbing his eyes, he felt his chest heaving as more tears emerged. Hiding his face in his hands, he surrendered and sobbed, shoulders shaking, voice hoarse.

"Ron?" Harry's voice sounded from the other side of the door. With a start, Ron stood up.

"I'm okay," Ron replied, rubbing his face and nose. Attempting a cheery voice, he added "Goodnight, Harry."

Dizzy from the rush of blood to his head, he stumbled to the dresser. For the first time all day, Ron looked at his reflection. Blood-shot eyes and dark circles. He hadn't slept well since Hermione left for Hogwarts. His eyes drifted towards the bottle of sleeping potion by his bed.

He was so tired.


End file.
